Mr Weasley and his Muggle Artifacts
by D'quer Jyi-Weil
Summary: A short ficlet about Mr. Weasley and the Muggle artifacts that haunt his dreams.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, or its characters. They belong to JKR. 

**A/N:** This may be confusing... I dunno... I just... uh... wrote it really fast in an all-nighter writing session I'm pulling. I think it's cute. Maybe it's not. shrug Oh well. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Molly! Molly!" Arthur Weasley raged, his hair a complete mess and his face smudged with soot and grease. "Molly! MOLLY!"

"My goodness, what is it Arthur?" she answered, wiping her hands on her skirt as she poked her head out from the kitchen. "Make it fast. I have a stew boiling itself on the stove."

"Someone stole my remote control car and my toaster!" he raged, his face turning so red that she feared it might explode.

"No one would want to steal those silly Muggle toys of yours, Arthur."

"Only one is a toy. The toaster is an appliance."

"Whatever you say, dear. I'm sure you just misplaced them."

"But Molly, I did not-"

"Oh! The stew!" Smoke had begun to furl out of the kitchen, and the burning dinner was of much more interest to Molly than her husband's silly hobby.

A bit hurt by his wife's behavior, Arthur shuffled back to the cellar door. 'They're not silly toys," he pouted, flinging the door open and promptly slamming it shut behind him. No one else ever came down here. No one else was allowed. This was his shop… his lair… his sanctuary.

The cellar wasn't very large in the first place, considering it was housed below the Burrow. Nonetheless, Arthur had managed to cram every odd Muggle artifact he could find into the small space. Toilet seats rested underneath old tubes of toothpaste. A large neon sign leans, dark, in a corner surrounded by the pink flamingos some Muggles put in their gardens. There were magazines and mop handles, shoe polish and snowshoes, pencil erasers and pencil sharpeners – basically every useless Muggle invention on the planet.

Arthur Weasley was actually quite proud of his collection. It was the most extensive in the Wizarding World, he imagined. Of course, he had pilfered a few things from the Ministry… but they wouldn't mind. They would have just tossed them anyways. No one understood the utter hilarity and fascination of these objects.

He slowly picked his way through the maze of useless appliances to his workbench. It was cluttered as well – a plethora of Muggle tools. If he tinkered with these objects with magic, it would completely defeat the purpose. Their integrity must be preserved. So he busied himself with screwdrivers and hammers and pliers while his wand could have repaired or disassembled something just as easily. It didn't matter to him though. He found this to be very fun. Sometimes more fun, he thought, than magic.

"Magic is certainly useful," he mumbled to himself, "but these Muggles can talk to each other on opposite sides of the country without using magic at all. Of course, I can just appear on the other side of the country, but where's the fun in that?" He was currently tinkering with a telephone since he couldn't find either the toaster or the remote control car. "I bet you Fred and George took my toaster," he muttered, winding himself up in the telephone cord as he tried to detach it from the phone itself. "Well, this thing is tricky, isn't it?" Moments (and very many twists) later, he fell to the floor with a clatter, completely bound in the cord. "Now, if only I could… find a way… to get this thing out…" he grunted, pulling and yanking at the cord. He groaned and strained and strained and groaned, but for some reason, he could not detach one from the other. He didn't have any more luck trying to untangle himself.

"Molly! MOLLY!" he shouted, but she didn't hear him. She was too busy humming over her happily bubbling pot of stew. He had actually yelled himself hoarse by the time he thought to use his wand.

It was quite a comical sight, Mr. Weasley writhing around in his telephone cord cocoon, trying to reach a wand that wasn't there. He had left it upstairs on the kitchen table. But he was a bit forgetful at the moment, and fought as hard as he could to reach his workbench. Of course, he was highly disappointed when he scoured the bench and found no wand. "MOLLY!" he wailed hoarsely, emitting no more than a pathetic crackle. "This is bad…"

He slumped back to the floor, resigning himself to the fact that he would be stuck here until dinner. Then Molly would come and find him. She always insisted that he was at the dinner table if he was anywhere near the Burrow. Finding as comfortable a position as possible, he let himself drift off to sleep. There was nothing else he could do.

What might have been hours or minutes later, he awoke to a sharp poke in the back of his skull. "Ow! Oi! Molly was that really necessary?" He received no answered, so he craned his neck around to try and see her. He must have missed dinner or something, considering the new bruise on the back of his head. But she wasn't to his right. He craned his head the other way. She wasn't to his left either. "Molly?" He shrugged, deciding that it was probably Fred and George trying to play some trick on him. Well, he knew how to get them… he would just pay no attention and go back to sleep. Then maybe they'd loose interest and untie him before they went back upstairs.

So he fell back asleep. And then again, in what might have been minutes or hours, he felt another sharp prodding on his skull. "OW! Alright Fred… George… that's not funny. You untie me this instant!" There was no answer. "Fred? George?" When he craned his neck around this time, he saw the whole set of screwdrivers roll off the workbench. After staring for a moment, he decided that he must have knocked the bench around, thereby causing the screwdrivers to fall. Satisfied with his explanation, Arthur Weasley tried to fall back asleep.

The next time he woke, it was to poking all over his body. "WHAT'S THE IDEA!" he shouted, trying to bolt upright within the cord. Again, there was no one there. But this time, he noticed that every one of the screwdrivers surrounded his body. "Well that's strange…"

And off in some corner, a vacuum started of its own accord. His head snapped around. "Who's there?" Only the vacuum's humming served as an answer. And then a microwave started itself, falling into a rhythm with the vacuum. "Boys! This isn't funny!"

All across the cellar, appliances and toys became animated. The neon sign flashed into life, temporarily blinding Mr. Weasley. "Blimey that's bright!" He tried to cover his eyes, but his arms were still bound to his sides. Phones started to ring and blenders started to blur. Pencils began sharpening themselves in the pencil sharpeners. Digital clocks clicked from minute to minute at light speed. Soon, the cellar was echoing with the noises. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop it!"

But they didn't stop. They started to move. Bowling pins and baseball bats loomed over him, the neon sign right behind their skinny necks. The toaster wasn't far off and every appliance inched forward to get their crack at Mr. Weasley. "No… please…" he begged as the screwdrivers began their assault again. "I didn't mean it! No! NOOOOOO!" The appliances descended upon him as vultures descend upon a rotting carcass. 'This is the end,' he thought. 'This is the end.'

* * *

_"NOOOOOO!" Arthur shouted, bolting right out of his sleep. He shook his head and struggled against bonds that weren't there. He thrashed around so much that he threw the bed covers completely off of Molly. "NO! No! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY!"_

_"Arthur! Arthur!" she called while shaking his shoulder. "Arthur, wake up! You're dreaming!"_

_"M-m-molly?" he stammered, groping around in the darkness for her hand._

_She gripped onto his wandering fingers tightly and pinched him away. "I'm right here Arthur."_

_"What happened?" he asked as he became lucid, taking in her worried look and the covers strewn about the room._

_"You just had a nightmare, dear. It's nothing a little Goodnight Tea won't calm. You make the bed while I go fetch that for you." And she padded out of their room down into the kitchen._

_Completely stunned by the utter reality of his dream, Arthur walked numbly from the bed and piled the quilts and blankets back on. The Muggle artifacts had seemed so alive… so real… so angry. He began to shiver, so he crawled back under the quilts. Maybe he shouldn't tinker with them anymore._

_Molly quickly returned with a cup of tea. "Here you go, dear. This should quiet your nerves."_

_"Thanks Molly." He gulped the tea down, and before long, both of them were tucking themselves back into bed._

* * *

"Molly! Molly!" Arthur Weasley raged, his hair a complete mess and his face smudged with soot and grease. "Molly! MOLLY!"

"My goodness, what is it Arthur?" she answered, wiping her hands on her skirt as she poked her head out from the kitchen. "Make it fast. I have a stew boiling itself on the stove."

"Someone stole my remote control car and my toaster!" he raged, his face turning so red that she feared it might explode.

"No one would want to steal those silly Muggle toys of yours, Arthur."

"Only one is a toy. The toaster is an appliance."

"Whatever you say, dear. I'm sure you just misplaced them."

"But Molly, I did not-"

"Oh! The stew!" Smoke had begun to furl out of the kitchen, and the burning dinner was of much more interest to Molly than her husband's silly hobby.

A bit hurt by his wife's behavior, Arthur shuffled back to the cellar door. 'They're not silly toys," he pouted, flinging the door open and promptly slamming it shut behind him. No one else ever came down here. No one else was allowed. This was his shop… his lair… his sanctuary.

Even though the cellar wasn't very large, Arthur had utilized every square inch of space. There were shelves along all the walls, containing alphabetized Muggle artifacts from "Apple Juicer" to "Zippy pant-shorts." Everything had its place, and that was how he wanted it. When it came to most things, he was cluttered and disorganized. But not his collection… not the best collection of Muggle artifacts there was. This, he took care of. This, he took pride in.

That's how he knew both the toaster and remote control car were missing. There was an empty space in their spots on the shelves. He doubled checked the smaller shelved near his immaculate workbench that held objects he was in the process of fixing, but they weren't there either. He was growing madder by the minute, wanting nothing more than to complete his mechanics on the toaster and to see how it worked. Of course, he couldn't do this unless he found the toaster.

So he combed through the basement again, looking in every crevice, every box, and on and behind every flat surface. It had to be somewhere, right? Non-magical objects didn't just up and disappear.

But, since he was unable to find the toaster or remote control car, he decided to try to repair a misshapen and bent lacrosse stick. He pulled the selected Muggle artifact off the shelf and laid it onto his spacious workbench. Sifting through his expertly arranged toolbox, he quickly found the string, wooden splint, and wood glue that he would need for this project. His fingers began flying around the broken handle and the frayed netting. He barely perceived time. He only knew this… mending a broken lacrosse stick.

"There," he said, standing back from his work. It might have taken minutes, or hours, or days. He didn't care. What he did care about was that the lacrosse stick looked just like knew. "I bet it never worked better." He cradled it lovingly in his palms, twisting it back and forth like a broom. "I wonder what the Muggles do with this damned thing."

He didn't dwell on that for too long. He began to sort through all of his collection, repairing what was broken and refurnishing was what old. He didn't even hear Molly call for dinner. He only heard the dripping of his own sweat and the soft buzz of his hands tools.

Time was not an object as he worked on his project. It just passed, or stayed still, but somehow… somehow he fixed everything. _He_ fixed _everything._

* * *

_In his sleep, Arthur Weasley smiled, happy with the second of his two dreams. Some part of his subconscious told him that it would be a good idea to drink Goodnight Tea every night before he went to sleep._

**0.o.0**

The next day (and he really was awake this time) Arthur found himself yelling up the basement stairs for his wife. "Molly! Molly!" Arthur Weasley raged, his hair a complete mess and his face smudged with soot and grease. "Molly! MOLLY!"

"My goodness, what is it Arthur?" she answered, wiping her hands on her skirt as she poked her head out from the kitchen. "Make it fast. I have a stew boiling itself on the stove."

"Someone stole my remote control car and my toaster!" he raged, his face turning so red that she feared it might explode.

"No one would want to steal those silly Muggle toys of yours, Arthur."

"Only one is a toy. The toaster is an appliance."

"Whatever you say, dear. I'm sure you just misplaced them."

"But Molly, I did not-"

"Oh! The stew!" Smoke had begun to furl out of the kitchen, and the burning dinner was of much more interest to Molly than her husband's silly hobby.

A bit hurt by his wife's behavior, Arthur shuffled back to the cellar door. But then he decided that he would face this problem head on. While his collection wasn't perfectly arranged, he knew that his two most prized artifacts were missing: that toaster and that remote control care. There was only one explanation. Fred and George.

"FRED!" he shouted. "GEORGE!" He stomped purposefully up the stairs, so purposefully that Molly looked up from her stew a moment, shrugged, and then turned back to her cooking. "BOYS! COME OUT HERE!"

He stopped outside of Fred and George's room. The two fourteen year olds rushed out in a flurry of red hair, bumping into each other and shoving as their father stared down his nose at them. "Fred, stop tripping me!"

"How can I trip you? You're standing behind me!"

"You'd find a way to do it."

"Nu-uh."

"Ya-huh."

"Nu-uh."

"Ya-huh."

"Nu-uh."

"Ya-huh."

"QUIET!" Arthur yelled, his face puffing up into a red balloon again. The twins fell into an obedient silence. Mr. Weasley took a few deep breaths to lessen the reddish tinge of his cheeks and neck. "Now, I'm missing a toaster and a remote control car. I'm going to walk into your room, and if I find it I-"

"Don't go in there, Dad!" Fred yelped, jumping in front of the door.

"Please Dad, you can't!" George added, helping his brother to guard their room.

"Boys, step aside."

"No Dad! Don't go in there!"

"Please! If you love us at all you won't!"

Mr. Weasley's face turned so red that if any of the Weasleys had known the Dursleys at the time, there would have been a heated argument over whose face could sustain the most color change – Vernon Dursley or Arthur Weasley. "BOYS!" he bellowed, shoving past them and into their room.

To be quite honest, he was a bit disappointed in what he found. There was no mutilated remote-control cars or broken toasters… just a bunch of ingredients, obviously stolen from the pantry in the dead of night, and a bubbling cauldron. "Are you boys doing magic?" he asked sternly, not wanting to receive an owl from the Ministry of Magic within the next hour.

"No Dad," George answered. "We're just cooking up a little Father's Day surprise."

Arthur paused. "But… Father's day was last month."

The twins exchanged a look before Fred started chattering. "You're right Dad. How foolish of us. Thanks for stopping by. It really made our day. We should to this again soon. Bye!" And Arthur was facing a closed door.

"They're up to something," he muttered, trudging back down the hallway, "I just don't know what." He didn't really need to know. He just needed to, somehow, find his toaster and remote controlled car. Maybe he really did just loose them in the cellar.

And then he heard it… the soft whir of rubber wheels… the grating buzz of the battery-powered engine (whatever that was) and the obvious "VROOOM!" coming from the next room. "AHA!" he shouted, bursting into his youngest daughter's room. Ginny looked up from her game, her cheeks turning pink.

"Hi Daddy."

"Hello Ginny." He eyes the remote control car carefully. "Aren't you a bit old for remote control cars?"

"Well… I…. it…. Just… I…" Her eyes darted around the room like a cornered rabbit. "I… I'm sorry Dad. Here's your car." And she was gone, rushing from the room as fast as her legs could carry her. She wouldn't be seen again until dinner.

Mr. Weasley happily gathered up the car and it's remote. "Just another day in the Weasley house," he hummed to himself – though it really wasn't quite true. Usually their days were filled with many more explosions and sibling rivalries. He was just happy to have his car back.

As for the toaster… he never did manage to locate that.


End file.
